


Five Times Spot Thought Race Was Pretty and One Time He Did Something About It

by musicalsmarvelandmore



Series: Newsies (Mostly Sprace) One Shots [8]
Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One-Sided Attraction, Protective Spot, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalsmarvelandmore/pseuds/musicalsmarvelandmore
Summary: Spot Conlon lived in a world full of uncertainties, but if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that Racetrack Higgins was too pretty for his own good.5+1 times Spot thought Race was pretty throughout the strike.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Newsies (Mostly Sprace) One Shots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593484
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	1. When Celebrating

**Author's Note:**

> Important note- in the movie King of New York, when Race sings "Ain't I Pretty?", Spot nods once in agreement. Somehow, those two seconds have turned into this 5+1 fic of Spot's admiration of Race.
> 
> Updates will be sporadic, but I do have a basic plan for each part.

Spot Conlon lived in a world full of uncertainties, but there were two things he knew for sure. One, newsies would always have each other’s backs, especially when they were from the same borough, and two, Racetrack Higgins from Manhattan was way too pretty for his own good.

He didn't know Race well, certainly not as well as he wanted to, but he did know him better than most of the other 'Hattan newsies since Race did sell at Sheepshead, which was technically in Brooklyn. Race would also come over for the occasionally poker night at Brooklyn Lodging, where every time he'd walk away with his pockets a lot heavier than they had been when he arrived. Spot didn't play, but on those nights would watch Race, the boy's eyes laughing as he looked like he was having the time of his life. Spot wanted Race to look at him like that.

When Brooklyn came to help 'Hattan beat back Pulitzer's men, Brooklyn was committed. Manhattan had to prove that they weren't going to back down but now that they had proven themselves, Brooklyn was ready for the fight.

It was fun to beat back grown men in about any situation. The face these thugs were hired to beat up a bunch of boys only made the whole situation better. Brooklyn boys were a bunch of fighters, and the victory felt good. This wasn't fighting just to fight. This was actually fighting for a cause, for themselves.

During Brooklyn's sudden appearance, Spot was more focused on getting his boys where they needed to be to help Manhattan. Adding a little bit of style, of course. Brooklyn boys were big and bad, and everything they were going to do would just keep going to prove that. That didn't mean that they couldn't show off and have a good time while coming to Manhattan's rescue.

He did keep one eye on Race, even though it wasn't intentional. Even when Spot tried to avoid looking at him, his gaze always ended up finding its way back. Honestly, it kind of made him feel like a creep. The boy really was unfortunately pretty. Not only that, but he had no problem fighting. Spot had to admit it was hot seeing him stand his own. He usually found 'Hattan kids to be wimps, but not Racetrack Higgins. Part of him longed to know what Race was saying to the men twice his size that he was taking down. Part of him just wanted to hear anything the other boy said.

Spot tried to stay with his own boys, keep his distance. Just because they were supporting 'Hattan's strike didn't mean he wasn't Brooklyn first. Some etiquette needed to be kept. Still, he got his picture on the front page of the pape. They had definitely won the battle, and this was something to celebrate.

Even as Spot tried to keep his distance, he still found himself in the diner trying to figure out the next move for the strike. It was mostly Manhattan boys there, which made sense since they were in their turf. Most of the Brooklyn boys that had fought with them had gone back to their own borough to celebrate except for Spot and a few other boys he trusted in making these decisions.

Getting their picture on the front page of the New York Sun, well, that could make all the difference. Spot might be young, but he wasn't stupid. Spot was a newsie. He knew what kind of a difference the powers of the press could make.

And it really felt like Race got that too, unlike some of the other boys. As one 'Hattan boys was complaining about how getting a picture in the papes didn't do anything for them, Race was the one to speak up. "You're in the papes, you're famous. You're famous, you can get anything you want.. And that's what so's great about New York."

Spot got that. And as all the boys were singing about their dreams, Spot allowed himself to speak up, right after Race did. It was all in jest, no big deal. New York was great, and allowing himself to dream of what that pape could get him, well, it was fine. He couldn't say exactly what he wanted personally to get out of this strike, but that was fine. All the boys were just messing around. He didn't have to be honest about it. Spot was the King of Brooklyn. He wasn't going to make a fool out of himself, especially in front of Racetrack Higgins. Spot wasn't even going to admit to himself what he wanted out of this strike for his own personal gain.

But as Race proudly displayed the pape with their picture on in and said, "Then there I be, ain't I pretty?", Spot couldn't help but to nod in agreement. 

Race was definitely pretty, often distractingly so. One single nod, that was all he was giving, admitting to himself. Sure, Race might be pretty and might always have the right words to say about everything, but that didn't mean anything. Spot needed to keep his head on straight. It didn't matter how pretty Racetrack Higgins was. This stuff, against Pulitzer and the newspaper giants, mattered more for Spot, his boys, Race, and every other newsie in New York than whether or not Spot found some boy pretty. They were in the middle of a war. They may be celebrating the battle but there was more to come.


	2. At The Rally

The newsies, all the newsies of New York, not just Manhattan and Brooklyn, were having a rally. Jack Kelly knew someone who owned a theater. All the other newsies from all the other boroughs of New York were following Brooklyn’s lead. Spot had never felt so powerful before. By bringing his boys into the strike, everyone else was coming in to stand behind them. It was for all the newsies of New York, not just them anymore. For once, here they were, united instead of squabbling.

Spot had doubted this at first, but this strike just might actually work.

The newsies, mostly Manhattan but Spot was definitely claiming some credit, were hosting a rally to organize the newsies. Preparations had begun immediately to spread the news to everyone. A newsie rally. Nothing they had done before could ever compare to this. Everyone was going to be there. It might just be the most important thing that these boys had ever done before. And here Spot Conlon was, a major part of it. This had to mean something. They were building something here, and while it was terrifying, they had to believe.

After the initial details were decided, Spot headed back to Brooklyn to get his boys ready. Sure, part of him wanted to talk to Race instead, but he had more pressing concerns in taking care of his boys, not looking and talking to pretty boys. Some things were more important had had to be done. Otherwise, why would anyone ever do anything else?

There wasn’t any room for error. This rally had to go well, to organize their path to victory. Spot knew that, but it didn’t make things less difficult. He was the king of Brooklyn, and Brooklyn was the key to this whole thing. He had to be ready, not only for himself, or as a leader of the strike, but also doing what was best for his boys. He might not have the right words or the tall stature, but he knew he could be intimidating. Spot was shorter than most of the other older newsies, but people listened to him. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he had worked hard to be the most feared and well-known newsie in all of New York.

He just wasn’t sure if this time, when all of Brooklyn was counting on him, he’d be able to get it done. He was good at leading his boys in daily stuff and emergencies, but this strike was different. Everything was changing, and that was good. That didn’t make these things any less terrifying.

Spot may be king of the largest number of newsies in New York, but he wasn’t used to talking in front of all the newsies of New York. The theater was packed. He didn’t know how Kelly and the Mouth were doing it, but he wasn’t about to show fear. He had his reputation to uphold. This mattered.

He may have also seen that Race was right in the front, but that didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t trying to show off. He would never try to do something like that.

But when Davey was talking about not soaking scabs, well, he was wrong. Spot was soaking any scab he saw and wasn’t afraid to say it. His boys would be behind him, but Spot just had to stand up to actually say something about it. Spot heard Race’s snide comment, but that didn’t affect his decision making after that point. It didn’t matter if Race sided with him or not. That was irrelevant. Spot had to focus on his boys first, and then himself, not on some random boy from Manhattan.

Though, when Race suggesting kissing the scabs as an alternative in jest, well Spot wouldn’t mind kissing him. But he couldn’t think about that, especially not right now. They were in the middle of a strike and Brooklyn wasn’t going to be sitting back from a fight. All his boys would be on his side. They had to get a plan together, all of them, to work together for this victory.

And even though he didn’t know what he was supposed to say, he somehow found the words for what he was thinking. But when it came down to it, Jack was right. If they all didn’t stand together, they were nothing. Spot might not have the fancy words, but he had his own voice, and all the newsies of New York were going to have to come together for them to have any chance at victory.

It was a lot easier to sit back and let Medda take the front. Sure, they had a lot coming, but they deserved to have fun before they went back to the fight. And damn, wasn’t Race cute with how much he got into the music, dancing and everything, hooking arms with Medda. Spot thought Race was just as pretty as she was, if not more so. He was just so passionate and full of life. Spot couldn’t drag his eyes away. Race didn’t seem nervous or afraid of anything. He just was, and it was absolutely beautiful to behold.

But of course, those moments of enjoyment and joy could never be allowed to last. They always had to come to an end, sometimes sooner than others. In this case, watching Race turned into something much darker.

The bulls were waiting for them, and that pretty boy went from dancing and full of life to his limp body dragged along the floor.


	3. In Jail

Going from feeling like the top of the world to sitting in a jail cell was quite an experience, one that Spot Conlon was not keen to replicate.

Contrary to what others might think of him, Spot had never actually been in this position before. That was one of the reasons he had been so successful. Spot had never been caught before. Everything he did added to his reputation and fame. Spot had never contradicted the rumors, but that did make things weird now. He had never actually been arrested, much less while hosting a rally to strike. This was unfamiliar territory.

He couldn’t help but to worry about his own boys. In this jail cell, it was mostly Manhattan boys, which meant that for some intents, Spot was all alone. He didn’t know anyone here, not really. Sure, he had talked to some of these boys before, and recognized some of the others, but that wasn’t the same.

Still, right now, and always, they were brothers. They might be from different boroughs, but they were on the same side, had the same experiences, something that Pulitzer and the other newspaper guys could never understand. It was a hard life, being a newsie, and they were brothers, even those that had never met before.

Racetrack was slumped in one back corner, still unconscious.

Spot hadn’t seen the other boy during the chaos of the bulls, but he did see them drag in the still figure and drop him on the cold concrete. Race’s face was steadily bruising, but he hadn’t moved at all. Every time Spot had seen him, the other boy had always been full of life. Right now, he was just far too still. None of this was okay.

Two of the boys, one with a patch over one eye, had dragged Race’s still frame into the back of the cell, so he wouldn’t be so exposed out in the open. They wouldn’t let him be an easy target. Spot wouldn’t let him either. He didn’t know where Jack was, but Spot was the king of Brooklyn, even though it was mostly Hattan boys. Still, the rally was about being in this together, and even though it didn’t work out, Spot still wasn’t going to stand down. He would do something about this as soon as he could.

Race wasn’t the only one bruised, but he was the only one still unconscious. Still, the group of boys sitting in this cell weren’t looking so well. Spot himself was sore and bruised, but it was his pride that was hurt more than anything else. He had never been arrested before, but he had gone so easily. He should have been able to do more, even if he didn’t even know what something like that would have been. Spot had done what he had to do in the moment.

He had never been good at waiting, but now, stuck in this jail cell, it was like the worst possible moments of everything to the extreme. It wasn’t fair, but so little was.

Spot had no clue what the future had in store for them, but it probably wasn’t anything good.

The night was long and honestly, it felt like it would never pass. Still, it wasn’t as though things were going to get any better once morning came. If anything, it was only going to be worse then. Morning was when the courts opened, when the boys would be doled out their punishments for their unjust arrests.

Still, the waiting was almost worse than anything else that the system could do to them.

Spot was seated against one wall, watching all the boys, but especially Race. Some of the newsies had dozed off, but Spot couldn’t imagine doing the same. It was impossible to tell the time in here, and Spot was far too wired to try to get some rest, even if he knew that he needed it. The day was long, and the night even longer. It wasn’t as if tomorrow would be any different. 

Race was still one of the most beautiful people Spot had even seen, even with the purples and blues covering his eye and cheek, the whole area swollen and painful looking. If anything, it only went to show that Race was a beautiful person, inside and out. It might be creepy, looking at him while he was unconscious, but Spot couldn’t help himself, even as splashes of red dotted both cheeks. Still, it wasn’t as though anyone would know what he was thinking. Race was a good person, and his prettiness only added to it.

All the arrested newsies sat in silence, likely pondering their inevitable fates, until a low groan broke the silence. Race. Spot’s attention snapped back into focus as he zoned in on the formerly unconscious boy. One of the other Manhattan boys was sitting next to him, speaking in a low tone that Spot couldn’t make out the words of, no matter how much he strained to listen. He could just hear murmurs as Race responded, the boy’s eyes darting around the small cell that everyone else had already memorized.

He knew that he should probably look away, to contribute to a sense of privacy that was nonexistent in a place like this, but Spot didn’t look away. Whatever came next might not be pretty, but for now, Spot was going to sneak side glances at the prettiest thing he had ever seen, even injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long to update! I'm trying to finish this by the end of December, so you shouldn't have to wait so long for an update again, at least on this fic.


	4. At Court

It had been a long night, but Spot knew that that was nothing compared to what might be coming. Sure, spending a night in a jail cell wasn’t what any of them had planned, but no matter what happened at court, this was only temporary. That wasn’t meant for long-term storage of teenage delinquents.

One of the most painful things about the whole experience was that the newsies had no idea what had happened to any of the boys that weren’t part of the group. Did they escape? Or were they just being kept somewhere else? There was no way of knowing, and honestly, that was practically worse than knowing what had happened, even if it was bad.

As the unfortunate boys were dragged into court to face the judge, Spot forced himself to straighten his shoulders and stand out front. These might not be his boys, but they were still newsies. He was the king of Brooklyn and the face of them. He had to represent the strength of all of his boys, and protect the other boys who were unfortunate to be thrown in here.. Race, who was Manhattan’s second, seemed to have the same thought as he pushed his way to the front to stand beside Spot. Spot forced himself to look at the judge, instead of the boy at his side.

Spot was supposed to be a leader, so he was going to have to lead, no matter how scared he was. All of them had to be scared, but Spot had to be brave even when it felt like fear was all-consuming.

He had no idea what to do. He had never done this before. Still, he had enough sense about courts to object, even though he wasn’t sure how that worked. But Spot was standing up for himself, and for every other boy that was stuck here with them.

So even though he had no clue how this was supposed to go, when the judge asked “On what grounds?”, Spot just tried to answer honestly.

“On the grounds of Brooklyn, Your Honor.”

Racetrack found it hilarious, ducking his head behind Spot’s back. Spot even allowed himself to crack a grin. It was funny, but Race’s reaction was even better. Spot liked the idea of Race having an opinion of him. This wasn’t the time to think about Race, but Spot just couldn’t help himself. It was like everything he did included thoughts of Race, no matter how much he tried to prevent it.

The sentencing wasn’t so funny. Five bucks? None of them had anywhere close to that. Race spoke up from beside him, sharing the same sentiment. Spot glanced at him in agreement before turning back to stare at the judge. When Race kept talking, Spot stared at him, puzzled, before laughing at it. Double or nothing? That boy had a great sense of humor, and everyone thought so. It was just so natural.

He thought the “Nice shiner” comment was funny too, allowing himself to look at Race and chuckle before realizing that no one else was and shut up fast.

He might be looking at Race a lot, even too much, but Spot just had to hope that no one else would notice. The focus was on the judge, on Jack, on that reporter. There wasn’t time for Spot then, and he could only hope that this would allow his crush to slip by under the radar.

Even though Race’s face was swollen, Spot still found the boy beautiful. It wasn’t even just physical, though Spot wouldn’t be lying if Race wasn’t pretty appearance-wise. Everything about that boy was amazing and beautiful. Maybe it was because he was just so true to himself. Spot wasn’t sure what it was, but even as he was spending more time with Race during the strike, that didn’t make that stupid crush of his go away.

And having a crush on Racetrack Higgins was stupid. Spot knew that logically, even as his heart was telling him something different.

Besides the whole they were in the middle of the fight of their lives issue, there was so much more to it than that.

Sure, Race laughed at Spot’s one comment, but that didn’t mean much. He might be king of Brooklyn, but in almost everything that mattered, he didn’t stand a chance. Race deserved the world, and even though Spot might be the king of Brooklyn, that didn’t mean that he was enough.

The reporter paid to get them out, and the boys were led back out to their streets, for their freedom, at least for now. They had a strike to win.

He headed back to Brooklyn. Manhattan was regrouping, and Spot had to do the same thing with his own boys. There was a lot at stake now. He might be fine, but while all the boys had joked around, treating the arrest like a joke, they knew it wasn’t. Shit just got real.

Spot did allow himself one last look at Race before he went. With Jack on his way to the Refuge, that put Race in charge of Manhattan. Race was holding court, and even with the one side of his face puffy and swollen, he looked beautiful, especially when he was in power.

There were so many thoughts going through Spot’s brain, so many logistics to plan before he brought his boys back to Manhattan in the morning to protest outside the World. He tried to push Race out of his brain, but the other boy was still there. Spot was going to see him in the morning, as they both brought their boys to the fight of their lives.


	5. When Jack Was a Scab

The next day, protesting in the square, Spot couldn’t help but to keep an eye out for the other boy. Even though he knew that there was no way that this was going to work out favorably for himself, Spot still couldn’t help himself..

He did manage to break up a fight, so at least there was that. Getting all these boys in the same place always led to skirmishes, even now, when it was imperative that they showed a united front. They weren’t going away, not as long as all the boys here stood tall for all that they believed in.

That might be easier said than done, however, especially if everyone else here kept on acting like idiots.

Spot tried to loosen up, but the very idea of that felt impossible with how nervous he was right now. Everything that had been going on recently, it was just far too overwhelming. His stupid little crush on Racetrack Higgins made him feel that way in the best of circumstances, but with the strike and everything else, it just felt insurmountable to ever really be able to deal with. The whole thing was far too much to ever try to successfully deal with, and Spot had no idea how they were going to get through it. Sure, there were a lot of them, but Pulitzer had money to pay for people to come to his side.

But he was Spot Conlon, and he wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything. As long as he kept on moving, then of course they were going to be unstoppable. That was how these things were supposed to be.

Everything was more than a little overwhelming right now, but he was doing just fine. He wasn’t thinking about how impossible the strike felt, or how he really needed to ignore his crush on the boy standing next to him.

But when he saw Jack Kelly, he grabbed Race’s arm, not even thinking about the contact until much later. “Hey, hey Race. Race, come here.”

There were more calls. Jack Kelly was a scab, was a traitor to the entire newsies movement, and Spot had no idea what he was supposed to do about any of that. This was something they had never done before, and there weren’t any answers when one of the leaders of a movement sold out to the man.

Spot felt bad for the Manhattan boys, calling out their pleas to their former leader, but mostly he was just pissed and worried. Even though life as a newsie was usually unpredictable, at least most of the time they aimed for the same goals as everyone else, but this wasn’t like any of that.

He had never particularly liked Jack Kelly, even though they always had to more or less get along for the good of their boys. But when Race lost it at Spot’s side, half lunging at Jack in his little suit and yelling, “Look at him in his little suit. You bum! I’ll soak you!”, Spot decided that he had to do something.

Race didn’t have to get involved in this mess. He deserved way better than that. But right now, the boy was enraged and honestly, Spot couldn’t blame him. There was no way that Spot would ever sell out the rest of the Brooklyn boys for some asshole in a suit. Now, Jack Kelly was that asshole in a suit, and he had left all of his brothers behind, with no place for any of the rest of them.

Newsies were supposed to be a family, and now the biggest brother of Manhattan had abandoned them all for money.

Still, Spot pushed Race back, wanted to protect anything that the other boy still had left. His hands were already dirty enough. No need for Race to have to do such a thing.

The rest of that day was a total loss, with the air blown out of all the Manhattan boys, and most of the rest of the boys. If one of the leaders of the whole thing abandoned them, then what chance did any of the rest of them have?

Spot hung near the Manhattan boys, unsure of what his role in this was going to be. He was almost a leader of the strike, but Jack had been the one who brought him in, and Spot wasn’t sure he wanted to trust the Mouth. He wasn’t a newsie through and through like the rest of them.

But before he headed back to Brooklyn, even through the general despair of everything, he couldn’t help but to crack a grin at the sight of Racetrack. Davey might be a leader of the strike, but with Jack gone, that put Race in charge of the Hattan newsies.

And even though the circumstances could hardly have been worse, there was still something magical about seeing Race in charge like this. The other boy was usually so lighthearted, and that had been what had drawn Spot to him in the first place. But now, even as some of that was restrained within the seriousness of the situation, Race took charge.

Usually when Spot saw Race, he was like some pretty, ethereal being, too good for the rest of this world. But now, even though Race had never looked so real and down to earth, that didn’t diminish his beauty at all. If anything, then it made the other boy shine even brighter, more radiant than other.

Spot shook his head, trying to clear it. This was not the time for anyone to have their head in the clouds. Without Jack, they all would have to work harder than ever to ensure that it all wasn’t about to fall apart.


	6. The Victory after the Victory

Spot knew he had his reputation to think about, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. They had actually done it. 

He still wasn’t sure how they had come out victorious, but it had happened.

Somehow, the working kids of New York, the orphans and runaways and all the rest of them, had defeated Joseph Pulitzer.

There were cheers all over, and practically everyone was yelling and jumping. It would almost be overwhelming if Spot wasn’t caught in the total euphoria of it all. It felt like there was nothing in that moment that would ever be able to surpass the sensation.

Right now, they were at the top of the world.

Spot had ridden away in the carriage, but had ended up doubling back. His boys were here, and so was everyone else, and it really didn’t feel like the party was about to stop anytime soon. And honestly, Spot didn’t care. Sure, some things in New York never changed, but it was the small victories that counted, and this here was a whole lot bigger than just a small victory. It meant so much more than that.

He was still in a great mood, yelling and talking with his boys, talking with people he didn’t know but tried not to let his grin give himself up, when he caught sight of Race out of the corner of his eye, and it was in that instant that Spot knew exactly what he had to do.

Sure, his crush on Race was stupid and unrequited, but right now, while they were at the top of the world, he should at least say something. Even if it went as poorly as Spot imagined it was likely to go, Race was a decent guy and wouldn’t say anything to anyone else, and probably wouldn’t even judge him all too much for it. 

It was worth the risk, even as Spot’s heart sped up at the mere thought of trying such a thing. Words had failed him before, and sometimes it felt like his words always did. But Racetrack Higgins had a way with words, and Spot knew that at the very least, he owed it to himself to act, to try, to do something other than fawn over a boy from a distance.

He didn’t know what to do, but this, whatever this was, would just have to be enough.

Spot cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the sweat on his palms and the way that he was staring at Race. He had to act. That was what he was supposed to be good at, but right now, it was like he was frozen in his tracks, stuck there.

It was just one step after the other, even as the whole situation kind of felt like he was just marching towards his own death. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. After all, they just defeated Pulitzer, and if the newsies could do that, then Spot should be able to tell Race how he felt.

But just because he knew something logically did not actually make it possible to do it. The world just wasn’t that easy. He just had to do it.

He couldn’t make eye contact with Race as he made his way over to the other boy, instead finding himself staring at the other boy’s feet. “Can I’s talk ta ya for a minute? Alone?” Spot said, his Brooklyn accent even thicker than normal thanks to his current discomfort. Maybe Race wouldn’t notice. Just because Spot had been paying so much attention to the other boy did not mean that Race had been doing the same thing in return.

Maybe this was a stupid idea, but right now, this was all that he could do, and therefore it was going to have to be enough, at least for himself.

“Uh, yeah. C’mon,” Race said, and Spot hated that he couldn’t tell what Race was thinking in that moment. Still, it wasn’t like there was anything that would make his upcoming confession any easier.

If Spot had started the day knowing that he was going to confess, then maybe he would have done something different. But this morning, he didn’t even know that they were going to win the strike and that life was going to go back to the way that it was supposed to be. Except maybe, this time, Spot didn’t want everything to go back to exactly the way that it used to be. Change could be good, even when it was hard.

Race led Spot through the crowd, off into a side alley where they were out of sight of the rest of the boys, but as Race turned to face him, Spot still wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he was supposed to say. He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward and hating himself for it. This just wasn’t how these things were supposed to be, but it wasn’t as though there was anyone here giving him that choice.

The other boy’s cigar was between his fingers, but he made no move to bring it to his lips. Spot knew Race was waiting for him to speak, but Spot didn’t have the words, didn’t know what he was supposed to say or do, how he was supposed to convey the fact that Race was the prettiest person Spot had ever seen and that he wanted to kiss him.

He shuffled his feet, unsure of what to say, but knowing he had to say it soon, before Race got bored and went back to the throng of celebration. He knew that if he was going to say something, then this was the time to do it, but that wasn’t actually able to make the words come any easier. The whole thing might be a bad idea, but Spot had gotten himself into this situation.

But before he could do anything, Race rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, Spot,” he said, sounding annoyed, even though Spot wasn’t sure what that was about.

The other boy reached out, grabbed Spot’s collar, and pulled Spot to him, the two boys’ lips crashing against each other.

Spot would never find the words to describe it, the total euphoria that came as their two worlds collided as one, one of his hands carding through Race’s hard. The boy tasted faintly of the cigars that he smoked all the time. It was like a sensory overload, everything so overwhelming and so wonderful all at once.

When the two boys broke apart, Spot had no idea how long they had been kissing, but couldn’t help but to smile as he looked into Race’s eyes. The other boy was grinning and raised one of his eyebrows.

Before the other boy could say anything, Spot finally blurted out the words that he had been waiting to say. “You’re really pretty, yous know that?”

Race laughed, stepping closer to Spot so that the two boys were touching, reaching over and squeezing Spot’s hand, neither of them dropping their hands, together at last.

Spot didn’t know what was going to happen next, but he had just kissed a pretty boy, and if the look on Race’s face was any indication, this wouldn’t be the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh it's done! I can't believe I got the idea for this fic a year ago, and just finished it! Thank you to everyone whose put up with my nonexistent update schedule and for reading this very self-indulgent fic. I hope this part was worth it.


End file.
